The Devil's Own eBook

I severed the line and we began to recede from the
shore, cutting diagonally across the decidedly swift
current. Once beyond the protection of the point
the star-gleam revealed the sturdy rush of the waters,
occasionally flecked with bubbles of foam. Sam
handled the unwieldy craft with the skill of a practiced
boatman and the laboring engine made far less racket
than I had anticipated. Ahead, nothing was visible
but the turbulent expanse of desolate water, the Illinois
shore being still too far away for the eye to perceive
through the darkness. Behind us the Missouri
bluffs rose black, and fairly distinct against the
sky, but dimming constantly as the expanse of water
widened to our progress. Pistol in hand, and
vigilant to every motion of the negro, my eyes swept
along that vague shore line, catching nowhere a spark
of light, nor any evidence that the steady chug of
our engine had created alarm. The churning wheel
flung white spray into the air, which glittered in
the silver of the star-rays, and occasionally showered
me with moisture. At last the western shore
imperceptibly merged into the night shadows, and we
were alone upon the mysterious bosom of the vast stream,
tossed about in the full sweep of the current, yet
moving steadily forward, and already safely beyond
both sight and sound.

CHAPTER XIII

SEEKING THE UNDERGROUND

Every moment of progress tended to increase my confidence
in Sam’s loyalty. His every attention
seemed riveted upon his work, and not once did I observe
his eyes turned backward for a glimpse of the Missouri
shore. The fellow plainly enough realized the
situation—­that safety for himself depended
on keeping beyond the reach of his master. To
this end he devoted every instant diligently to coaxing
his engine and a skillful guidance of the boat, never
once permitting his head to turn far enough to glance
at me, although I could occasionally detect his eyes
wandering in the direction of the girl.

She had not uttered a word, nor changed her posture
since first entering the boat, but remained just as
I had seated her, one hand grasping the edge of the
cockpit, her gaze on the rushing waters ahead.
I could realize something of what must be passing through
her mind—­the mingling of doubt and fear
which assailed her in this strange environment.
Up until now she had been accorded no opportunity
to think, to consider the nature of her position;
she had been compelled to act wholly upon impulse
and driven blindly to accept my suggestions.
And now, in this silence, the reaction had come, and
she was already questioning if she had done right.

It was in my heart to speak to her, in effort to strengthen
her faith, but I hesitated, scarcely knowing what
to say, deeply touched by the pathetic droop of her
figure, and, in truth, uncertain in my own mind as
to whether or not we had chosen the wiser course.
All I dared do was to silently reach out one hand,
and rest it gently on those fingers clasping the rail.
She did not remove her hand from beneath mine, nor,
indeed, give the slightest evidence that she was even
aware of my action. By this time the eastern
shore became dimly defined through the black mist,
and the downward sweep of the current no longer struck
in force against our bow.